


Thaw

by mongoose_bite



Series: Dyce the Incredibly Easy Breton [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Play, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoose_bite/pseuds/mongoose_bite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So I was lost, on top of a mountain, and low on supplies. And then I ran out. And the next thing I know I’m in bed with a strapping young farmer so I assume I died and you’re my reward for a virtuous life.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thaw

Mralki seemed hell-bent on keeping Erik close to home when Rorik heard news of a prize bull up for sale in Windhelm. Windhelm was awfully far, and the way was dangerous, especially in these times, and Erik’s vow to obtain the animal ‘even if he had to go all the way to Morrowind’ didn’t exactly help his cause, but even the crusty old innkeeper couldn’t object to his son volunteering to get it.

The gold and the best wishes of his tiny hamlet went with him as Erik rode his father’s gelding, by now rather elderly, through the snowy landscape to Windhelm. It was a real adventure at last, and although Erik started at birds and checked every outcrop in case a bandit ambush was hiding behind it, he was secretly rather disappointed that he arrived in Windhelm without incident and obtained the bull for a good price, after some haggling.

His community would be proud of him.

The Windhelm bull was a large, thankfully placid animal, and it plodded along behind his horse as they started the long trek back.

Rorikstead was one of the more pleasant parts of Skyrim, and Erik decided he wouldn’t be sorry to be out of the snow. But he would be a bit sorry to be home; if Mralki thought this adventure would cure his son’s wanderlust, he was doomed to disappointment. Erik watched the road ahead, and pretended he was an adventurer not a farmer returning from market.

He whistled quietly to himself, and kept an eye on the weather, which he had to admit, wasn’t looking promising. Dark clouds were gathering, and Erik tried to remember how much further the next travellers’ camp was.

Something dark against the snow caught his eye. He thought it was a rock at first, and then maybe a dead wolf, but when he drew closer he got the feeling it was something worse. He nudged his horse off the road, towards the object, still wary in case it was a trap of some kind.

It was a man.

He had a bulging satchel next to him, and was wearing leather armour, somewhat battered. He was armed with both blades and bow, but neither were drawn. He had red hair, a few shades lighter than Erik’s own, and Erik was quite sure he was dead. He dismounted and approached cautiously, kneeling down beside the body and touching the man’s neck. His skin was cold, but there was a heartbeat. He was not much older than Erik himself.

Which made things complicated, but Erik was just relieved. He knew adventurers died, quite commonly really, but he didn’t want to have to face that fact so starkly right then. Of course, the man would die if he didn’t do something soon.

He wasn’t that big; Erik guessed he was a Breton, or perhaps a very fair Imperial, and Erik had the kind of muscles that only working from dawn until dusk every day of the year would give you. Still, when he tried to pull the man from his snowdrift, he could barely shift him.

“What have you got in there?” he muttered. “Rocks?” He cautiously undid the straps on the satchel. Ingots, bits of metal and strange mechanical devices met his gaze. Erik didn’t know much, but he thought maybe they were of Dwemmer origin. If so, this man was a real adventurer to survive one of those dangerous places.

Erik detached the man from his satchel, and loaded the latter onto his horse, who looked affronted at the extra weight. Flakes of snow were starting to whirl in front of Erik’s eyes when he heaved the man up onto his shoulder and with some difficulty managed to lay him across the bull. At least the creature was warm. Eric secured his patient with some rope and threw a blanket over him. It was better than nothing but he had to find some shelter soon.

The wind was howling among the crags and visibility had been reduced to almost nothing by the time Erik finally stumbled across the camp. It was little more than a fire pit and a couple of tents set up in the lee of a large stone, but it was better than nothing, and mostly clear of snow.

Erik led his animals to the most sheltered spot; and they stood next to each other looking at him miserably as he fumbled to relieve them of their burdens. The man’s pack he just let fall to the ground, and the man himself he heaved off the bull and half-dragged half-threw him into one of the tents. He was, at least, still breathing, although he looked gaunt and hollow-eyed.

There’d be no building a fire in this weather. Erik dragged his own pack into the tent and closed the flap as firmly as he could.

“It’s blowing a gale out there,” he told his patient, who didn’t respond. Erik had never had to look after someone before, but like all children of Skyrim he had some idea nevertheless. He was cold and hungry himself but he lit a lantern to give him some light to work by and started tugging off the man’s boots and getting him out of his armour, which proved to be more complicated and arduous than he expected, as his patient was no help at all.

Erik had some vague idea that body heat would help and he rather shiveringly removed most of his own clothing and crawled into the bedroll next to the sleeping stranger. He felt incredibly awkward and he was rather relieved the man showed no signs of waking up. The man’s skin was cold and clammy and Erik made himself press as close as he could to try and warm him up. Erik reached for his pack and propped himself up on his elbows to eat a dinner of brown bread and cheese and apples.

With the storm still raging, but his companion looking a little less pale, he eventually dropped off to sleep.

***

He awoke sometime during the night, startled to find someone’s arms around him. He jolted in sudden panic; the lantern was out and for a few moments he couldn’t remember where he was or what he was doing.

He was being groped. Well, sort of, the stranger’s hands were drifting in unnerving directions anyway.

“I’m really sorry,” an unfamiliar voice said into his ear, soft and slightly blurred. “I honestly have no idea who you are. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to,” Erik found his voice at last, squeakier and more uncertain than he’d have liked. There was no reply. A short while later, he heard his companion breathing evenly and deeply; he’d fallen asleep again.

Before he knew it, Erik was waking up again, and it was morning. He wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing; no, that would make _him_ the perverted one, not the man, who was curled up against his side and still asleep.

Erik was surprisingly warm and comfortable, but he forced himself to get up and hurriedly put some clothes on to see to the animals. They were where he’d left them, looking miserable and resigned, but the wind had dropped and morning sun glittered off the fresh snow. He fed his horse the apple cores from the night before.

Satisfied that all was in order he returned to his patient and shook his shoulder, “Hey, wake up. You alive in there?”

“M’fine. I’ll pay for the room, let me be.” He tried to burrow down into the bedroll. “It’s not worth it, I tell you.”

Erik rocked back on his heels and thought for a moment, “Are you hungry?”

One bleary blue eye opened and looked at him, “What’re you offering?”

Erik offered him bread and cheese, which make him go a bit pale at the thought, and eventually he fed him slices of apple; he hadn’t expected that he’d need to feed a convalescent, and he didn’t have any venison broth or porridge on hand.

It was enough to wake the man up a bit, however, and he looked around at the tent, and then he lifted the blanket to look at himself.

“You really are a looker,” he said finally. “I’m very sorry I don’t remember.”

“That’s because we didn’t do anything!” Erik protested, feeling himself flush. “I was keeping you warm, you idiot.”

“That explains why I feel so awful.”

Erik didn’t think it did, really; just what sort of man was he anyway? “You were nearly dead when I found you.”

“That too.” He attempted to get up and then sat back down again. “Maybe I’ll stay here a while.”

“You need looking after,” Erik said. “You can’t stay here. Come on, I’ll help you up.”

Erik had enough trouble getting the man out of his leather pants to even consider trying to get him back into them, and instead he dressed him in his spare clothes; the good ones he’d worn while he was in town. They were a little big on the Breton who grumbled and complained about not being able to do anything for himself.

“Do you intend to hold my dick for me when I piss as well?” he asked.

“Do you want me to?” Erik asked in sudden alarm.

At the expression on his face, the stranger started laughing, even though it soon turned into a rattling cough.

“Ah, you’re sweet. I am grateful, you know. My name is Dyce.”

“Erik.” Suddenly he felt shy; this man was a real adventurer, after all.

“Where are we going?” Dyce asked. He still looked pale and wan, but he was sitting up without assistance. It would be enough to keep him on the horse without having to tie him on.

“Rorikstead. I’m going home from the market.”

Dyce nodded. I’m just a farmer, Erik thought.

Erik secured Dyce’s pack to the bull, and he and Dyce shared the horse. Dyce held on to Erik’s waist as he sat behind him and soon Erik felt his head against his back. When he looked over his shoulder, Dyce was asleep again.

“This place is paradise.”

“Are you mad?”

It took them two days to return to Rorikstead. As soon as Erik was sighted, half the town turned out to welcome him home; it was sort of embarrassing. His father was at the front of the little crowd; plainly he’d been expecting something terrible to happen.

“Look at it, cute little farms, chickens, lush crops, smiling people.”

“You’re hallucinating again,” Erik said. For a while the night before Dyce had run a fever and had complained bitterly about being bothered by cats. “This place is the most dull and boring town in all of Skyrim. Maybe all of Tamriel.”

“Yeah,” Dyce said dreamily.

“Who’s this?” Mralki asked.

“This is Dyce,” Erik said. “I found him nearly-dead on the road during a storm. He’s still not well.”

“I suppose it’s only right to look after folks,” he said.

“We can take care of him if you like,” Reldith offered.

“It’s fine,” Erik said, feeling suddenly possessive. “I brought him here, I’ll look after him.”

Rorik was most happy with the price Erik had paid for the bull, and he got a few extra septims for his trouble. With Dyce to look after, he didn’t have time to feel sad that his grand adventure, as not-so-grand as it turned out be, was over.

He installed Dyce in a guestroom, and lugged the enormous satchel in as well. Mralki was frankly suspicious, what with their guest’s armour and weapons and general lack of respectability, but he couldn’t fault his son’s charity and said nothing.

Erik for his part put some soup on to cook, and headed straight out to catch up on all the chores he’d missed while he’d been away. He returned dusty but not tired after only working half a day, and went to serve his guest dinner.

Dyce was sitting up in bed, paging through a battered and ink-stained journal when he brought in a tray of soup and bread. Dyce inhaled appreciatively, “Now that’s more like it. Would you eat with me?”

Erik said he would, and went to fetch his own dinner.

“Is that a journal of your adventures?” he asked, watching Dyce soak his bread in soup and eat it with a spoon.

“Only indirectly. It’s more of a to-do list.” He sighed, “And it just seems to keep getting longer. Maybe this whole mess is a sign I need a break.”

“What happened?” Erik asked. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine.”

“No big secret, I was exploring a Dwemmer ruin. There’s a lot of treasure just for the taking in places like that, you know.” He shrugged, “Anyway, it was going fine. I found this elevating apparatus, and it still worked. Took me right up to the top of some mountain, miles from where I’d started. I had no idea where I was, so I was going to retrace my steps through the ruin, only the apparatus broke. Gave me the fright of my life. I had to climb out. So I was lost, on top of a mountain, and low on supplies. And then I ran out. And the next thing I know I’m in bed with a strapping young farmer so I assume I died and you’re my reward for a virtuous life.”

Erik choked on his bread. He was sure Dyce said these things just to shock him. He certainly seemed to find it amusing.

After his first proper meal in days, Dyce looked ready to drop off to sleep.

“Are you sure it’s all right?” he asked.

“It’s fine, I won’t let my father charge you for the room.”

“I’m going to miss sharing,” Dyce said. Erik just shook his head.

Like all farmers, Erik got up at the crack of dawn, and first thing he went in to see what Dyce wanted for breakfast; he wasn’t a healer but he was pretty sure good food would go a long way to make Dyce feel better.

Dyce was still asleep, despite the sunlight filtering in the window and making the room quite warm. He was stretched out on his back, his hands under the pillow. He’d kicked most of the blankets off, and Erik found himself staring at a fairly obvious tent above the Breton’s crotch.

Staring. He should not be staring.

Unsettled, he left without a word. Dyce could have porridge and honey and like it.

As it turned out, he did like it, and he made jokes about Erik making a wonderful husband that made Erik’s ears burn.

“I have to get to work,” he said. “My father won’t tolerate me taking more time off.”

“That’s fine,” Dyce said with a smile, “I’ll stay here and watch you toiling in the fields from the window. Feel free to take your shirt off.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Actually, I’ve been told I’m quite easy.” He relented, “I’m sorry, I’m not used to enforced rest.”

When Erik was done for the day, Dyce asked him if there was anywhere he could have a bath. “Pond, steam, lake? That sort of thing.”

“Round here we use buckets,” Erik said. “But I could fill the bathtub for you.”

“Oh, luxury. I’ve been in Skyrim too long.”

Erik went to heat water.

“Do you know the Dwemmer have baths?” Dyce asked, as Erik showed him to the kitchen; being closest to the fire it was the most efficient place to put the bath.

“Seriously?”

Erik had been intending to be as far away as possible while Dyce had his bath, but if he had a weakness it was stories. Still, he busied himself tidying up while Dyce disrobed and stepped in.

He groaned, “Oh, this is nice. Are you sure this isn’t paradise?”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d had to carry the water.”

“Fair point. Where was I? Dwemmer baths. I assume the water’s all mineral springs, but they use steam for everything; heating water is what they do. Well, did.”

Erik dragged a chair closer and sat down to listen, “So have you tried them out?”

“How could I not? I had to make sure the place was secure first, of course.” Dyce told him stories of mechanical monsters and strange treasures and deadly traps. He dunked his head under the water and scrubbed at his hair, and Erik kept the fire going and Dyce continued his stories until he declared his fingers were wrinkly and abruptly stood up.

Erik was staring again. At a lean body sprinkled with scars, mostly muscle and bone. Drops of water beaded on Dyce’s skin, and dripped from his hair and fingertips. He reached up and wrung out his hair, just long enough to allow him to do so, and Erik admired the way the muscles under his back moved. Luckily, Dyce was facing away from him and didn’t appear to notice.

Dyce stepped carefully out of the bath and Erik caught a glimpse of the cock hanging between his legs and suddenly his face was hot and his pants were tight and he blundered to his feet, apologising and crashing about looking for a towel. He couldn’t look Dyce in the eye when he handed it to him.

“You go and rest. I’ll make something to eat.”

“Mm. Okay.”

“You really like my stories, don’t you?” Dyce was dressed in what were obviously his own clothes as they fit him much better, and was sitting up at the table when Erik served dinner. Erik had managed to calm himself down, and found he could talk easily again.

“I wish I could be an adventurer,” he confessed. He’d avoided talking about it in case Dyce thought it was childish, but he had worse secrets to keep now. “Farming bores me to tears, but my father won’t hear of me stopping. He had adventures once, why can’t I?”

“Adventuring’s got its downsides too,” Dyce pointed out. “As you’ve witnessed for yourself. I’ve stumbled across a lot of corpses in my time.”

“I know, but I feel like I’m wasting my time here. We all go to Sovengarde eventually, and what will I say when I get there? I grew fine cabbages? That I slew hundreds of potato-bugs?”

Dyce chuckled, “Well, why don’t you just up and go?”

Erik hung his head, “I could, I know, but I have no armour and no weapons, but more important than that, I want my father to be proud of me. I want him to think I could be an adventurer too.”

Dyce sighed, “That’s a tough one.”

“Do you have a family?”

Dyce shook his head, “Nope, they found me in a basket on the steps of a temple to Dibella in Highrock.”

“You were raised by priestesses of Dibella?” Erik raised his eyebrows. “Actually, that explains a lot.”

Dyce laughed, “Not as much as you might think; I ran away when I was ten.”

They talked for a while longer, before Erik realised he was keeping Dyce awake and bid him goodnight.

***

That night he dreamt of beaded water and tented sheets and when he woke up he had problems of his own. He stared at his own ceiling in the predawn light and almost without realising it he found himself padding out of his room and across to the guest rooms.

His mouth was dry and his palms were damp as he stood in the doorway, watching Dyce breath. This was bad, surely. He drifted closer, and knelt down beside the bed, terrified in case Dyce woke up, terrified in case he didn’t. Dyce was lying on his side this time, and Erik wondered if the hair falling across his cheek bothered him. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there - long enough for his knees to hurt - when he realised something had changed.

Dyce’s eyes were open.

Erik’s heart thundered in his ears as another eternity passed.

“Well, what are you going to do now, Farm Boy?” Dyce murmured.

Erik leaned in. “I’m not a farm boy,” he whispered. “I’m an adventurer.” And he kissed him. He felt Dyce smile against his his lips, stubble rubbing against stubble as he rolled onto his back, one hand snaking out of the blankets to cup his cheek. Erik forgot to breath for a while, as Dyce opened his mouth, coaxing him.

And then he didn’t need coaxing, he wanted everything, he didn’t know what he wanted, his hands brushing Dyce’s hair out of his face and gripping his shoulder and when he broke away he was breathless.

Erik looked down the length of Dyce’s body, mostly hidden under the blankets. “Can I?” he asked, not sure what he was asking.

“You can,” Dyce said with a lazy smile. “Whatever you’d like.”

Erik stroked Dyce’s cheek, and down his neck, splayed his hand on Dyce’s bare chest. Adventurer, he reminded himself, and slid his hand lower. Dyce had risen to meet him; Erik nearly pulled his hand away when his fingertips brushed the end of Dyce’s cock.

Dyce laughed, “It’s not gonna bite. I might though.” He propped himself up on one arm and kissed him again. Eyes shut and Dyce’s tongue at his teeth, he was braver and slid his hand down further. Dyce purred as Erik wrapped his fingers around the shaft. He knew what he liked, and he tried the same on Dyce, although the angle was strange, sliding his hand up and down. Oh Divines, he was really doing this. He wondered if this was a dream; if it was he was sure he’d be washing his pants when he woke up.

He was delighted and slightly startled when he felt Dyce tug on the front of his shorts and slide his hand down. He had no hesitation, and he had Erik gasping and twitching in moments.

They were aware of time passing, of people getting up and moving around outside, and Erik grew desperate, gasping against Dyce’s lips, biting back any greater noise.

“Yeah, like that,” Dyce mumbled, and somehow that was enough and Erik was coming in his hand, because the way the Breton spoke, and they way he moved, he was liking this, liking _him_ and Erik pulled his head back and grinned as he watched Dyce roll his head back and pull on Erik’s hair with his free hand, and when he came, pearly white halfway up his stomach, Erik felt a thousand feet tall.

Erik let his head flop forward onto Dyce’s arm. He couldn’t stop grinning.

“Well, I’m feeling much better,” Dyce said eventually. “When’s breakfast?”

“Here!” Erik said, threatening him with his glistening hand. He snatched it away when Dyce stuck his tongue out and licked the palm. He didn’t think he’d want to do that.

Dyce hadn’t been joking about feeling better. After Erik had darted back to his room to put some proper clothes on, Dyce got up as well and declared that he wanted to help. Erik told him to collect eggs if he was feeling so chipper and he went and did so.

When Erik returned to the fields, Dyce wandered around introducing himself. Most people seemed to like him; it was hard to dislike someone who showed such unfeigned admiration for your home. Dyce still seemed to think, much to Erik’s annoyance, that Rorikstead was some sort of earthly paradise. When he was tired, he sat in the shade and watched them tilling the fields.

That night, Dyce followed Erik to his room, after the lamps had been blown out and the fire dampened down. And the following morning, Erik chased him back.

Days passed like in a dream. Dyce never demanded, he indulged. In the quiet moments before dawn and in the depths of the night they touched and stroked and kissed. And Dyce grew stronger.

He took to helping Erik cook, and then he was picking vegetables and milking goats.

On a cloudless midmorning, Erik straightened up from his work and looked over at the inn. Dyce was chopping wood. Stripped to the waist he swung the axe with the easy grace of a fighter. Despite the sweat on his brow and the sun beating down on his head, Erik felt cold.

Abandoning his hoe he strode over to the inn, the solid, rhythmic thunk of the axe biting into wood a counterpoint to his heart.

“Dyce.” Dyce paused his work and smiled at him. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

Dyce nodded. “The call of the road; you should know what it sounds like.”

“Yeah, I do.” He’d known this was coming. “Before you go,” he stepped closer, dropping his voice. “I want you,” he muttered. “Properly.”

Dyce looked up at him; the Breton was a few inches shorter, “You saying that wasn’t proper?”

Erik’s entire face felt like it was on fire, “I want us to be lovers before you leave.”

Dyce shook his head, “We are, you idiot. Oh, don’t pull that face. Come on.” He leaned the axe against the chopping block and strolled off, and Erik hurried to catch up.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“You said you fancied a roll in the hay, I’m looking for some hay.”

“Oh. There’s a hayloft in the barn over there.”

“Good.”

Erik glanced around, hoping no one noticed them as they entered the barn. Erik showed Dyce where the ladder to the hayloft was, and he got an excellent view of his arse as he climbed up.

“So you’ve never been up here before then?” Dyce asked.

“Of course I have everyone has to help when- oh, I see what you mean. Well, no. Is that bad?”

Dyce sat in the hay and rested his elbows on his knees, “Not really. Come here.”

Erik needed no further invitation. He crawled forward into Dyce’s arms and they lay back in the hay, by now used to the way their mouths fit together, the way they could stretch out against each other.

“Just so you’re aware,” Dyce said, unbuckling Erik’s belt. “I’m not in the habit of debauching virgins.”

“Is it going to hurt?” Erik asked.

Dyce stopped unbuttoning Erik’s pants and cupped his face in his hands. “Not if you tell me, you understand?”

He nodded, and swallowed nervously. He lifted his hips to let Dyce remove his pants.

“Just relax,” Dyce said. “Lie back and enjoy.”

Dyce stroked him, like he always did, and milked him until his fingers were slick and salty. Erik jumped as he felt Dyce’s fingers move further back, still just stroking.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he said a bit breathlessly. He raised his hips slightly, “Please?”

“Mm.”

Erik shuddered and forced his breathing to remain even as Dyce pressed a finger into him, and just waited. With his other hand he squeezed the end of Erik’s cock.

“How is it?” Dyce asked.

Erik wasn’t sure. “Ah, kind of weird I suppose.” It wasn’t unpleasant, and he nodded encouragement when Dyce worked his finger in deeper. And then Dyce did _something_ and his cock jumped and he gasped. Oh, Divines-

“Wha-”

He was doing it again or he was still doing it or something, just grinning and watching Erik squirm and gasp like a landed fish. Please don’t stop, he thought, please don’t ever stop. Dyce must have read it off his face, because he didn’t stop.

Erik’s hips ground against empty air; Dyce had taken his other hand away.

“Dammit- why?”

“It was blocking my view.” But his other hand remained right where it was, driving Erik mad. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, sweaty and shuddering, his legs outstretched, but eventually he couldn’t take it anymore and he grabbed and pulled at his own aching cock, and then the knot below his stomach uncoiled and he was coming.

“Oh gods no,” he groaned and gritted his teeth, but no force in Tamriel could have stopped him.

He licked his lips. His mouth was dry. He could smell his own seed. He opened his eyes and realised Dyce still had his pants on. He was crouched between Erik’s legs just watching him.

“You, sodding- that’s not what I meant.” He mustered the energy to swat him and missed.

Dyce chuckled and crawled into the hay beside him, “I couldn’t do that.” His smile faded, “I’m just going to leave, you know. Besides, I want you to do what you always do,” he grinned and nipped at Erik’s ear. “All those callouses, the dirt under your fingernails- it gets me going.”

Erik rolled his eyes.

“Please?” Dyce pressed himself against Erik’s hip. Erik rolled over to face him, resigned to the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to say no.

When Dyce went to Erik’s room that night, he brought his satchel with him. He opened the top and started stacking ingots on Erik’s table.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“These are Dwemmer metal ingots. A good smith can make an impressive set of armour out of them, and if it’s not to your taste, you can sell it for armour that is.”

“But, why?”

“You’re going to be an adventurer, right? You need some gear. And I wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Erik said, still dazzled by the gleaming pile. “But my father-”

Dyce shrugged, “Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? He might feel a bit better about it once you have some armour, anyway.”

Erik sat on the edge of the bed, “Where are you going?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Markarth first, since it’s close. I’ll sell some of this junk. Then I got a whole long list of things to do; let everyone know I’m not dead, just on holiday.” He shrugged.

“Are you going to come back?”

“Maybe, but why should I?” He winked, “We both know you’re not gonna be here.”

Erik smiled; he believed him.


End file.
